


Strike and Strikeability

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Fingering, Ilsa has a Mr Bingley thing, Ilsa takes her costume research very seriously, Kissing, Making him too prim and proper doesn't work for me, More tags to be added later!, Nick and Strike secretly quite like the clobber, Robin surprises Strike, Robin's housemate is an actor, Strike and Nick think it's hilarious, Strike doesn't want Robin involved, The Colonel is back, a lovely ride back to Strike's flat, boots!, but he wants to money for a good reason, dating agency case, dress up time, easy access to frocks at short notice!, heaving bosoms, in a library!, lots of lovely kissing, or rather Regency Romp Strike is born, prompt asked for a make over for Strike, so I went with this.....which very much works for me!, there are braies involved!, there is a vague attempt at plot, tight cream breeches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-01 15:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: The prompt calls for a make over for Strike, but in my mind if he becomes too primped and proper looking he loses his sex appeal.....and having already written most scenarios for him (oily mechanic, jeans and t shirt, army uniform) I was drawn back to this little idea.....it worked once before, so I'm going with it.I haven't had any feedback as to whether it meets your approval Lemon-Verbena in terms of your prompt, but it was inspired by it anyway.A couple more rather more 'E' rated chapters will follow, but I am using 'E' as general rating due to the Strike- like language throughout.For those of you who have read I am no Bird.....our Colonel returns (sort of!)I have also been heavily inspired by a wonderful image created by Roissy on here, with permission from author/artist, I would urge you to check out and search for with no regrets by Roissy for the image which inspired one of the chapters.....





	1. I want to give you a pay rise!

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [lemon_verbena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_verbena/pseuds/lemon_verbena) in the [StrikeFicExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StrikeFicExchange) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Cormoran gets a makeover (Ilsa, perhaps? Lucy? Undercover?) and Robin's poor heart isn't prepared... (neither is her libido, if you're in the mood!)

Robin entered the office as usual on Monday morning, the familiar rumble of her colleague’s voice on the phone made her sigh and smile…..there had so nearly been a possible moment on Saturday at the Tottenham.

They didn’t usually meet up at the weekend, but recently there seemed to have been quite a few celebrations involving work, Nick and Ilsa, her own flatmate Louis, Lucy’s family and Jack…and they’d been spending more and more time together outside of work.  
Anyway, after several pints and probably a glass more white wine than was sensible there had been a bit of a thing when she’d struggled with locating her jacket sleeve. Cormoran had reached around her and held the collar of her coat, and when she’d inserted her arm into the sleeve he hadn’t immediately let go…in fact he’d swallowed, quite visibly!

And yes, she knew a swallow wasn’t a declaration of love, or even lust…but the tiny, momentary flicker of need and arousal she’d spotted behind his eyes in that same moment had fired a heat in her that just wouldn’t subside.   
She’d found herself scrolling back through texts he’d sent her, she even looked online at some fan sites – she knew they existed from research work on cases, but she’d never read the stuff about Cormoran….blimey….those writers certainly didn’t hold back!

Having spent most of Sunday working her way through a weird and wonderful combination of the sublime and ridiculous in terms of plots and tenuous links to Cormoran getting naked and fucking someone - often herself! – she was as horny as fuck, so his deep, grumbling and slightly plaintive baritone was playing havoc with her ability to hang her coat up and take through the cup of coffee she habitually brought for him.

His posture behind the desk combined with the fact that he was splaying his fingers and thumb across his forehead, lit B&H casually slotted between his fingers, made her think that the call wasn’t brilliant news.  
He met her gaze and flashed a momentary smile that transformed his face briefly before he almost barked down the phone:  
“I appreciate that’s why the fee is so substantial, but you are asking quite a lot!”  
He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, drawing deeply on his cigarette as he listened.

Robin cast another, furtive glance at him as she left the room.   
Maybe she had just got carried away on Saturday night….the dimmed lighting in the pub, a few drinks, the fact that they were in casual attire, albeit that Strike’s casual collection was incredibly similar to his average weekday work collection.  
He was clearly not struggling with any pent up emotions about her this morning….and anyway there was plenty more fanfic to go at….she hadn’t even started reading any of the ones that involved alternate universe scenarios…the tags alone had got her eyebrows wagging and her knees clenching!  
Dropping to her seat she fired up the computer and started working her way through emails which Strike had left for her, and updated a few details on their office calendar.

She was partway through her own coffee when she heard the end of the phone conversation next door and ran her hand through her hair, expecting Strike to come through and fill her in.   
Instead she heard his voice again:  
“Nick…need a favour. Are you busy Thursday night? Work…..I need a wingman.”

Her interest piqued and she scrolled across the calendar for anything she had missed. She also heard the slight creak of Strike’s chair and his uneven gait, then realised that he’d closed the office door…..what was he up to that involved Nick?

About half an hour passed before he emerged in a cloud of second hand smoke as she was going through the files in the cabinet beside the door.  
“And tonight Matthew I’m going to be?.....” she quipped, wondering if he’d pick up on the image the old TV programme hosted by Matthew Kelly, where everyday people went through a smoke filled doorway and emerged dressed as a popstar.  
He smirked, clearly the man did recognise some popular culture references afterall.  
“Sorry about that….I know I don’t usually close that these days when it’s just us in ‘ere.”  
“No problem…shall we go through the week? It’s a bit later than we usually do, but…..it’s how we seem to start a Monday!”  
Cormoran wrinkled his nose and uneven lips fractionally before he answered and if asked Robin could only have described his body language as ‘shifty’.

“Erm……yeah, about this week….I’ve got something on….it’s a really well paid job, “ he stressed this statement, making full eye contact with his partner, “Only problem is…..oh God, I hate this….I can’t really tell you about it…..I can easily manage it….it isn’t something you can get involved with…I need another man actually….got Nick roped in…” he trailed off and met her shocked expression with an almost pleading one of his one.   
He ran his large hand across his chin, his beard had grown slightly longer and it no longer made a rasping sound.

“Nick? How come Nick and not Shanker? Or Barclay? Or even Wardle?”

Strike pulled a face at her of incredulity, “Trust me, I would never do this with any of that lot involved…..they wouldn’t…..work!”  
“Is it dangerous?” she asked and stared him down as he answered.  
“No…I promise it isn’t….I’d hardly get Nick involved if it was….Ilsa’d kill me after you’d started the process,” he stated, arching an eyebrow in a rueful and honest response.  
“But you’ll tell me about it once it’s done? And it won’t take you off other cases….’cos we’re pretty busy?”  
“I know we are…but this is really, really well paid….and well……you’ll have been working with me for five years next month….I wanted to give you your first pay rise….” He shrugged and looked sheepish…and in Robin’s eyes delicious.

“You daft bugger,” she muttered, unable to prevent the pouting smile that his twinkling green eyes beneath dark, to -die- for- lashes aroused in her.

“So….is it gonna be OK me sneaking around and disappearing off and not telling you where I am?”  
“Suppose it’ll have to be……..it’d better be a decent raise though!”


	2. We find out why Ilsa fantasises that Nick is Mr Bingley, not Mr Darcy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short one, just explaining Ilsa's role in this....and quite why our boys are going to get such an exquisitely perfect Regency make over!

After lunch, Strike set off early to do some surveillance and rang Nick again, who after verifying some details hung up, allowing his friend to call Ilsa.

“What do you mean it’s exciting? I’m glad you’re thrilled, I’m gonna feel like a right prune!”

On the other end of the phone he could hear Ilsa tapping away on a keyboard, “I need a rough idea of sizes, chest, inside leg, waist, shoes…that kind of thing.”

“Shoes? Why the hell…..?”

“Because you can’t wear a pair of Regency style trousers and a frock coat and stick your bloody brown boots on! You need to look the part….more importantly if Nick is getting a proper no expense spared Mr Bingley outfit out of this he’s getting the works!”

“Is this some long held fantasy thing you’ve got….Nick as Mr Bingley? Why not Mr Darcy?”

“Because Mr Darcy is dark….you’re more suited to that….and I’m not fantasising about you!”

“Fair point! Well, just bear in mind my leg….not sure they did prosthetics in Regency England….Jane Austin never wrote about ‘em anyway from what I remember, although didn’t Rochester end up with a gimpy arm in Jane Eyre?”

He gave her the measurements she asked for and told him she’d send some pictures for him to choose from, despite his retorts that he ‘Doesn’t give a fuck ‘cos I’ll look like a plonker whatever fucking colour it is!’  
___________  
Tuesday and up until Wednesday lunchtime passed without any further furtiveness on Strike’s part.  
He carried on trailing a mark with Barclay helping out around the busier parts of London when required, she did searches on a different case and managed to get some insinuating images of the wife of a client by staking out a café opposite a vegan restaurant.

“I’ll need to leave a bit early tonight,” Strike announced as she entered the office on Thursday morning. “That job….I, er…..need to be somewhere with Nick later and I need to brief him on a few details.”

Robin nodded, she was still slightly frustrated about Nick being in on the case and not her – it really wasn’t like Strike, it wasn’t like them at all at work – they usually shared details on everything; they were forever texting each other with updates, even if only one of them was working the case, as often happened now that Robin was more experienced.

He noticed her soft pout and the slight sadness behind her eyes….her fucking perfect, storm cloud grey eyes that he’d almost fallen into at the Tottenham on Saturday….but he’d got away without her noticing…he was pretty sure of it.

“Look….I can’t say much, but it is a dating agency who have hired us….they suspect one of their members is duping guys into basically paying for a pretty lavish lifestyle for her….she arranges dates, gives some story about needing them to pay for her hotel room the night before so that she can meet them, and then she runs up a ridiculous bill and buggers off without showing. They suspect her, but they have no proof, and obviously they want to keep it quiet.”

Robin’s face softened and she nodded, “So….you and Nick, what? Are you both trying to pick her up, or are you hedging your bets in case she doesn’t go for your type?” the slight warmth behind her eyes almost gave away the fact that she was thinking, ‘silly cow if she doesn’t’.

Strike grinned back at her, “ No! What I’m thinking is that we’ll both try and get her hooked onto a date….I’ve seen some of the other guys who have fallen for the scam….I think we’ll both be OK!”

“OK….what time are you meeting up with your fellow eligible bachelor pal…I assume he has to play at being single?”

Cormoran nodded, “Yeah…Ilsa’s….well, she’s been given an incentive.”

“What? Is she getting a raise too?” Robin grinned.

“Not quite…but I’ve been assured by Nick that she is quite on board with what it entails…and I don’t really want to dwell too much more on that if you don’t mind. What’s on this morning then?” and he changed the subject hastily as he could both see and ‘hear’ the cogs spinning in Robin’s head.

With a quick shake of her honey-gold hair she was focussing on their plan for the day, and the pair worked out how he’d be able to leave the office at around 5pm in order to get across to Nick and Ilsa’s house.


	3. The Make Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the actual make over takes place  
Lots of description of our chaps getting kitted out like proper Regency dudes.....and secretly loving their clobber.  
Ilsa may have taken a furtive picture which finds it's way to Robin....but she doesn't get the whole reveal just yet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Bentley Drummel in Great Expectations was played by Tom B! So his facial look will be based on that too!!!  
I tried to add actual emoticons but it all went a bit wrong!

“Have fun…..hope you both pull!” Robin quipped as Strike returned from a brief trip up to his flat…she could swear his toiletries bag was clasped under his arm, and he didn’t appear dressed for mingling but he had his suit carrier in his hand, so presumably he was changing at Nick and Ilsa’s.

He made his way across London – travelling in rush hour was never pleasant, but his size and piercing expression was usually enough to ensure he was allowed space leaning against a rail or carriage side – and walked the short distance from the tube to Octavia Street.

“What’s that?” Ilsa asked indicating his suit carrier when she opened the door to him. “Everything you need is here….even pants!” she grinned.  
Strike rolled his eyes and wiped his feet on the mat at the doorway.

“Well, Robin doesn’t know does she….I’ve told her I’m going to this dating agency thing, that’s all….she has no bloody idea that the woman prays on men attending Pride and Prejudice themed events….and it can stay that way please!” he gave her a twitch necked glare as she wiggled her shoulders and seemed in his opinion to be on some kind of sugar or drug induced high! “Are you OK?” he asked.

She merely waggled her fingers, reminiscent of a plotting villain in a silent movie, but with such a sappy, wide mouthed grin on her face it was impossible for her to convey any kind of terror.  
“I’m just excited…..you’re going to look amazing! I mean these are serious pieces of tailoring you know,” she added as he continued to shake his head at her enthusiasm.

“Ilsa, it’s a pair of trousers and a jacket…..bloody hell!” his final statement coincided with him following her into the lounge, which was hung and strewn with various items of Regency men’s clothing.

“It’s so much more than that Corm! As you can see….we have braies, breeches….look at that flappy bit….it goes at the front, [Cormoran was holding up the item and twisting it around trying to work out whether the buttoned section was intended as an easy access for visiting the loo, like on a pair of long johns] then a shirt, and waistcoats….loooook at these, they’re gorgeous, then coats, and boots….oooh, and cravats!”

Ilsa had leapt from piece to piece like an excited schoolgirl, stroking the fabric and clapping her fingertips together.

“Are you sure you’re ok? You haven’t been sniffing the loo cleaner again have you?” Strike asked, amused by his old friend’s excitement; and rather unwilling to admit that the waistcoat and jacket which he assumed were his, based on their size, did look like rather beautifully tailored items of clothing!

“Well, you said you needed proper clobber…and money was no object…so…….” Ilsa span around and inclined her palms around the collection.  
Nick descended from upstairs a few minutes later, “It looks like backstage at London fashion week circa 1815 in here doesn’t it?”

Strike noticed that he had shaved, presumably he’d just been finishing off when he’d arrived; he had that baby soft, pinkness and boyish smoothness to his cheeks that Strike could never quite achieve.  
Ilsa pointed a finger at Strike as she noticed Nick’s smooth chin, “You’ll have to get rid of most of that,” she indicated Cormoran’s facial hair and laughed along with Nick at their friend’s wide handed clasp at his jaw, as if to prevent it’s removal by pressing it further into his face!

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because smart chaps didn’t have beards…..some had a tache…..but mainly rogues!” Nick replied, grinning and sniggering along with his old friend as presumably their minds went to similar ‘roguish’ stories from their past!

“Stop it the pair of you….Corm, you need to shave….you can keep the side bits….look, I’ve got a picture,” and Ilsa flashed an image on her tablet showing a British actor who had more than a passing resemblance to Strike. “See, you can keep the side bits and just shave off the bit around your mouth….and if it goes wrong you can shave it all off!” she cheerily added as Cormoran scratched his head and winced.

“She’s taking this all very seriously,” he muttered to Nick, who nodded sagely.  
“She takes Pride and Prejudice very seriously, Oggy….I’m reliably informed that most women do!” 

Strike had returned to scrutinising the various items of clothing hanging up.  
His attention kept returning to the buttoned flap on the front of the cream coloured trousers.  
“Does this really go at the front?” he asked quizzically, receiving an equally perturbed expression from Nick.  
“You haven’t seen the undies yet…..they’re not what you’d call supportive!” and he held up a pair of flimsy, knee length cotton shorts which fastened with a drawstring and looked alarmingly shapeless and sheer.

“ILSA?!?!” Strike’s deep voice shouted up the stairs. “Why can’t we wear normal undies? We’re only trying to get dates, not get her into bed?” he moderated his volume as she came back into the room with them.  
“I thought you might be able to, but the trousers are fairly tight fitting, and Nick tried his on yesterday with boxers…..it looks really wrong.”  
“I did tell her we’re not trying to win a prize for authenticity…” Nick’s voice trailed off as his wife cast him a stern look from above her glasses.  
“….No…..but if you’re going to the trouble of dressing up you should do it properly…and anyway…..I’ll be very appreciative!” she wheedled, grabbing her husband around his waist and nuzzling her face into his neck.

“….so how come I have to wear them then!” Strike grumbled, holding aloft the pair of frankly shapeless and to his mind practically pointless cotton shorts. “Between these and that flap thing I’d better not get excited!....Speaking of which, can you put him down please so I can brief him on his role.”  
Ilsa reluctantly let go of Nick, giggling and waggling her eyebrows suggestively as she scampered out of the room.

“I owe you big time for this Oggy!” Nick whispered after she’d left.  
“What? Oh no! Don’t tell me I’ve inadvertently acted as an enabler to some weird fantasy of hers?” he sighed.

Nick however rubbed his palms together and flashed a devilish (well, as devilish as Nick could make his freshly shaven face) glance at the other man, “Come on!! Pretty much every woman has a thing about this kind of get up….it’s like uniforms, and black stockings for us guys…….are you sure you wouldn’t like Robin to know?……I saw that little thing on Saturday…..and don’t shake your head, Oggy….there was something there, you know it!”

Cormoran ceased shaking his head, as instructed, “Look….she knows we’re doing this, but not the whole costume thing….and it can definitely stay that way. You might be Ilsa’s idea of a dream come true in your tight breeches and tail coat…..I’ll be satisfied with just getting a pretend date with our mark. So….listen up and make sure you follow the plan, otherwise me shaving and dressing like a plonker will have been in vain.”

“And not smoking,” Nick added glibly.  
“WHAT?!”  
“No cigarettes allowed at the venue; although apparently cigars are in keeping and you are permitted to puff on one of those in the allotted area!” Nick added with a grin.  
“Fucking brilliant!”

A short while later Strike was as happy as he was going to be with Nick’s repetition of his instructions; although he was certain he was making small errors on purpose to piss his friend off….the man was a doctor, he could recall massive lists of instructions and drug contraindications off the top of his head all day long.

“Right….I’d better try and make my face look like this,” he said waggling the image of some actor, apparently in a role in Great Expectations according to the tag.

The following thirty minutes passed with Strike in the bathroom, being repeatedly interrupted by Ilsa offering ‘helpful’ pointers as to his facial hair symmetry; him telling her on more than one occasion to ‘Just bugger off and let me do it!’ and Nick grinning and giggling.

“Well, I look like a prize tit!” Strike announced as he emerged from the bathroom; the sink and floor liberally sprinkled with tufts of his dark beard.  
He’d made a very accurate job of removing the hair from his chin, upper cheeks and lips, and of sculpting what remained into a style very reminiscent of the actor playing Bentley Drummel.

Ilsa was quite taken aback at how the shave alone altered his appearance.  
It took years off him, despite the scowl he was sporting and creases to his brow.  
Nick pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, “Actually it’s OK…I mean not for everyday, but I reckon that’s pretty good for a Mr Darcy type effect, mate!”

At Nick’s comment Strike turned and reappraised his appearance, the furrows in his forehead smoothing out as he tilted his chin slightly and sniffed.  
“OK then, come on woman….how the hell do we get into this lot?” he asked as Ilsa virtually bounded across the room with glee.

“Well, the only thing I couldn’t quite fathom is how we get your leg into that pair of trousers and that boot,” Ilsa indicated each item and brought them across to Strike who regarded them as he did any problem to be solved – with narrowed eyes and his lips jutting in pensive concentration.

He spent a few moments regarding and mentally working out how each piece of clothing linked and then glanced over at the braies in order to factor those in.  
“Right, I need to take off my leg, then put these on,” he waved the ‘flag like’ under garment, “Then I can thread the leg into the trousers and attach the boot before I put them all on….pretty much like normal really….I think,” he mused and raised his eyebrows as Ilsa showed no sign of leaving.

“Oh! Yes, of course, I’ll go and put the kettle on,” and she left the men to it, Nick having drawn the blinds in the living room.

The pair had shared hotel rooms and seen each other in all manner of states of undress in the past, so stripping off infront of each other was no issue.  
Strike pulled his leg off with his jeans, removed his clinging boxer briefs and dragged the historically accurate cotton undergarment across his bare skin, sighing slightly at how soft and cool it felt. He then sat on the sofa in order to wrestle his prosthesis into the leg of the somewhat tighter than usual style of the trousers and then the long, brown boot.  
Nick had put on his own pair of cotton undies and was wiggling his hips appreciatively at the relative freedom the undergarment permitted.  
Satisfied with his right leg Strike slid his other into the left of the breeches and fastened his prosthesis back into place before dragging the trousers up to waist height. The little buttons of the knees of the braies had served their purpose in ensuring they remained in place, although he had to smooth down the right leg slightly as the button clasped the metal rod of his leg and therefore didn’t remain as taut, but he managed it and slid on the long, rather flouncy in his opinion shirt as Nick did the same with his own.

“Bloody hell, I’m glad we live in an age of lycra!” he commented as he wrestled with what felt like a ridiculous volume of flimsy fabric.  
They tucked in the shirts and fastened up the odd buttoned flap on the trousers and regarded each other, both clearly giving their hips a tentative twitch.

“I’m beginning to see why women are into this….there’s not much stopping access is there?” Strike mentioned as he toyed with the slit created by the buttoned flap on his breeches, which he had to admit, now that they were pulled up and fastened were rather comfortable and made his backside look pretty good based on the small glimpse he’d allowed himself in the mirror over the fireplace when Nick wasn’t looking.

Nick regarded his own slender legs encased in the tight, cream fabric, “I quite like them actually…..I feel like a polo player! What next? Waistcoat or tie thing?”  
Not being sure, Strike decided on going for the waistcoat first, Nick opted for fastening his cravat. The length of fabric seemed ridiculously long, and the collar on his shirt far too high for his neck for comfort.

“How the hell is this supposed to work?” he held aloft the length of fabric, and gave an appreciative nod towards Cormoran’s addition of a double breasted black waistcoat. It had a low, scooping neckline and seemed to pull in his waist and make the voluminous sleeves of the shirt somehow ‘fit’.  
“ILSA?” Strike shouted, “Come and help with these tie things.”

As if she had been primed and ready for duty she appeared and squealed slightly when she saw them, her hands automatically slid across her husband’s backside and she gave a small gasp before instructing him in wrapping the long cloth around his neck several times before fastening it.  
He complained about the odd height of the collar, but Ilsa assured him in almost motherly tones that he’d get used to it, and the finished effect when he slid his arms into his own, dove grey waistcoat was rather good.

Strike allowed Nick to repeat the cravat tying process on him, his neck being wider meant that the collar was even more annoying….or maybe it was just Cormoran who complained more!

“Right; boot, coat and let’s fucking get on with it,” he grumbled in his characteristic deep growl.

Nick had already slid his calves into the tall black boots Ilsa had bought, using a nifty tool which slid under his foot to keep the fabric of his trousers and the leather of the boots tight. He handed the item to Strike who copied the action for his left boot.  
“It’s actually pretty well thought out all this clobber…..the little buttons, gadgets like this…” Nick mused as he surveyed himself in the mirror.  
“Why the hell didn’t they think of a clip on tie then?” Cormoran grizzled, trying to twitch his neck to relax the tension of the fabric which threatened to throttle him.

Ilsa was hovering with her phone, desperate to get a picture of Nick in his finery before he left, but she had been sworn to secrecy by Strike – he didn’t want to run the risk of her posting it to someone and it blowing the whole thing.  
“This is a relatively simple job, clothing excepted, and very decent money, so don’t make me go through this for nothing!” he’d glared at her when he saw her with the offending piece of tech again.  
“I’m not taking a picture, I’m just checking my alarm for tomorrow while I remember….honest!” she wheedled with her fingers crossed behind her, but held up and snapped several pictures without the flash enabled, “There, changed it and set it for earlier!” she lied, and handed Strike his coat.  
Nick had already slid himself into his dark blue coat, the flippy tails at the back were slightly annoying when he tried to sit down, but the overall effect of the wide shoulders and tightly clenched in waist was rather attractive he had to admit.

“I look OK then?” he asked, although the look of unbridled desire on his wife’s face told him everything he needed to know….he almost wished Oggy wasn’t there, but they managed a few quick but passion filled kisses before Cormoran ambled back into the lounge – he’d gone to have a cigarette at the back door and returned having dragged a hand through his curls; his disastrous hair for once actually fitting the style of dishevelled coiffure much aimed for by men of the period. 

“Put him down…..you can keep the gear and do whatever the hell you want to him later….but for now Mr Darcy needs his wingman, come on Bingley….let’s rock regency style!” Strike hefted himself into the rather delectable wine coloured coat and gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror…..he’d primed himself to feel and look ridiculous, but was rather surprised by the image reflected back at himself.

His tone changed somewhat abruptly, “Do I look OK?” he asked a little sheepishly, slightly caught offguard by his different appearance; the facial hair combined with the width of his shoulders and his stance, which he had no choice in due to the stiff collar and fitted jacket……it reminded him slightly of his army days!  
Nick affected a slightly whinging voice, mocking his friend, “Do I look Okaaay?”  
It was enough to drag him back to the present and the job in hand, “Oh for God’s sake, come on….the car’s outside, he texted me, and here, you need these,” Strike handed a set of credit card sized cards printed with details to Nick.  
“Nicholas Howard?” he winced, “And isn’t that your mobile number?”  
“Yep, and I’m Cameron Hall….and mine have got my spare number on ‘em,” he nodded, “No mobile phones allowed, we actually have to introduce ourselves and swap contact detail cards….who the bloody hell thinks this is a good way to meet an ideal partner?”

“Act like nice, polite gentlemen won’t you?” Ilsa called from the doorway. “And don’t feel like you have to accept EVERY card that gets passed your way,” she added, puffing out her cheeks at the rather delectable sight of her husband’s buttocks ensconced in tight cream fabric as he flipped up his tail coat and climbed into the back of the Lexus which had been sent by the dating agency to transfer them to the venue of the party.

As soon as they were off she scampered back and flicked through the various images she’d managed to get on her phone.  
Several were just blurs, but a couple were pretty decent considering the fact that she’d taken them rapidly and whilst pretending to type a text message!  
She was in the process of zooming in on Nick’s slender waistline when a message flashed up at the top of her phone…..from Robin.

R : Hi, has Cormoran been at yours to get ready for this party thing, only he left his dress shoes in the office…..do you need me to bring them over?

I : No!!!! I’m sworn to secrecy, but I need to share this……look! [images 2 of 2 attached]

There was a momentary pause as Ilsa waited for the images to send and for Robin’s reaction.  
It was priceless when it arrived,

R: :0 :0 :0 :0 'flame' 'flame' ;) :0 :0

I: I KNOW!!! And it’s even better in person!

R : Do you know the venue? No wonder the swine was trying to keep it from me……I feel the need to take the piss and record this for posterity!

I : You’ll feel the need to do more than that with his posterity when you see him Robin! There’s something very Mr Darcy about him…..or even Mr Rochester…you know, dark, thunderous eyes….especially cos he found out he can’t smoke ciggies all night!!

R: Really?! Oh lord! He’ll explode.

I : Seriously…..I know I’m not supposed to tell, but why don’t you get yourself down there…..surely Louis will be able to lay his hands on ‘random extra in regency costume drama frock’….I can send you details of the venue……when are you ever going to get the chance to see him like this again? Nick gets to keep his outfit….I get my Mr Bingley whenever I want when he gets back….Corm on the other hand is NEVER gonna look like this again!

Surveying her phone in her flat Robin couldn’t stop flicking from Ilsa’s messages to the image of Strike.

He looked so completely different to his usual self; and yet so completely him!

The images were clearly mainly focussing on Nick, and she could only really see a grinning smile from Corm’s slightly blurred face reflected in the mirror, as though he was heckling his friend in one image, and in the other it just showed the back of a pair of snuggly fitting cream trousers and tall boots.  
From Nick’s appearance and Ilsa’s comments he was clearly dressed in full Pride and Prejudice gear….and who in their right minds hadn’t fantasised about that at some point?!

She ceased texting briefly, “LOUIS?" she shouted through to her flat mate in his room, " I wonder if you can help me out?”


	4. The hottest pieces of regency ass in the joint!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Cormoran and Nick do their smouldering best at the event - both have to try to attract the same woman, but obviously they have to play the part of chatting up the other women there too.  
Nick finds his inner Bingley and starts enjoying himself, Corm is the master of the Smoulder...of course!  
Then an unexpected guest turns up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head Amanda Chadwick is Natalie Dormer - the woman who played opposite Tom in the Brunchers and was also Anne Boleyn in the Tudors.

Nick was feeling a little tense in the back seat of the Lexus as it made it’s way towards Apsley House. The imposing mansion at the corner of Hyde Park had been hired as the venue for the party.  
“I’ve just realised, I actually have to chat women up don’t I?” he stated, blushing and looking slightly helpless at his dark haired friend, who seemed to be transfixed by the feel of his own, smooth upper lip.

“You do indeed…..what? Can’t you remember how?”

Nick glared at him, “It’s been quite a long time since I did it…..I’ve no idea what people say these days….I mean, what works?”

Strike chuckled beside him and indicated their clothing, “I don’t think modern dating advice is appropriate for this evening! But you’ll be fine…..ask about where they live, where they last visited on holiday, what was the last decent book they read….same shit, different era! And anyway, we only need to attract one….and we should probably not be too pally inside…..we both need to get dates with her really, it’ll help with the pattern.”

Nick nodded fractionally, “That helps actually….and try not to make eye contact with me when I’m chatting to someone….you’ll make me laugh, I know you Oggy!” he gave his grinning friend what he hoped was a withering glare.  
“I’ll be on my best behaviour…..I’m fully embracing the role of Cameron Hall…and I’d like to get out of this sodding neck tie thing as quickly as possible,” he sniffed, “Although, the old braies and flappy pants are pretty good…..”  
“I know! Nothing’s squashed in is it?….it’s nice and free!” Nick added and the pair twittered away about various aspects of their attire, and how their coats hugged their waists and showed off their torsos until the car drew to a standstill.  
Strike alighted first and told Nick to wait in the car for at least ten minutes before following. 

Apsley House was a stunning building, replete with ornate fixtures and furnishings – it was a museum and art gallery these days, but still managed to retain that aura of being a ‘home’ and Strike was quite impressed by the level of detail and expense the dating agency appeared to have gone to…..they gave these parties every few months; no wonder they didn't want them getting a bad reputation!

Liveried footmen opened the door, and at the foot of a small flight of stairs one waited with an outstretched silver tray,  
“Your card, Sir,” he politely stated.

Cormoran glanced around and could make out that the ratio of women to men was at least four to one in the galleried space at the top of the landing.  
He placed one of the smart cards with his details on the tray and waited until a second, similarly clad man indicated for him to step up….he felt like a prize prune as he was officially ‘announced, “Mr Cameron Hall of London.”

At least twenty pairs of female eyes snatched around to regard the newcomer….and several gave him lingering appraisals which certainly weren’t in keeping with anything written by Ms Austen!

Thankfully a tray of drinks appeared and he grasped a large glass of red wine and took a lengthy draught before wandering in what he thought might be a historically accurate manner towards the ornate fireplace where a selection of sculptures caught his eye.

The fluttering fans of several females followed his stalking gait….he was definitely the most decent piece of regency ass available so far!

He scanned around the room using the handily placed mantel mirror for assistance and recognised their mark.   
She was attractive, dark haired, a bit short….she reminded him a little of some actress he’d seen in something about Henry the VIII….if she wasn’t a mark he’d   
definitely be interested…..but more importantly he could definitely see how others had been drawn in by her elfin-like chin and determined lips which were just now curling into a feline smile as she approached him from behind, staring quite unashamedly AT his behind!

“Good evening, Sir…..might I be so bold as to er…..you know, get your card?” she flashed him a wickedly sexy smile as he turned to greet her.

He inclined his head towards her and went along with her amusing mash up of Georgian society etiquette and modern day attitudes, he took her gloved hand in his own and pressed his lips to her knuckles, noticing that there was a definite clearing of feminine throats and increased fan action to his right as he did so.

“I’m not completely convinced that a woman in your position should technically be so bold…..however, bollocks to Georgian etiquette. I’m Cameron…and I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

She breathed deeply, making her already tightly wrapped breasts press tantalisingly against the plunging neckline of her dress before handing him her own card.  
“I’m Amanda, Amanda Chadwick.”

He accepted the card and surveyed the details – her name, and a mobile plus an email address which had the .de rather than .uk ending.  
“I notice that you have links to Germany….your email address,” he added as she raised her brows, “I’m in IT…..not very Regency I know, but I suppose not everything at these things can be authentic!”

They were deep in conversation when Nick made his entrance, and as requested, Strike made a point of not making eye contact with him, although he smirked at the fluttering fans and female eyes that rather unashamedly followed him around…..he also noticed that his friend gulped down most of one of the glasses of wine before being snared by a lone female wearing a dress that was verging on the obscene – albeit it was floor length – based on it’s neckline and the attributes of the woman almost spilling out of it.

As he made small talk….or rather nodded and allowed his female companion to make small talk- he quickly recognised the mark from the image Oggy had shared with him, he also noted that his friend was already in full smoulder mode with her, and from the way they parted it was clear that he’d already got his side of the deal done and dusted….he was a bloody quick worker!

Nick made to move away from the monopolising company of Miss Claire Staunton, having already, begrudgingly swapped cards with her, but she quite blatantly and skilfully managed to reposition him in such a way as to make his escape impossible.  
He was despairing when a familiar deep voice interrupted them,  
“Good evening, Cameron Hall. And you are?”

Nick flustered slightly….to be fair he hadn’t actually managed more than a couple of words in the past twenty minutes and his mouth had dried up,  
“Oh, er…..Nicholas Howard, pleased to meet you. This is Miss Staunton,” and Nick shook the proffered hand of his friend, managing to stifle a snigger at the blatant attempt to overly squeeze his hand (it was a ridiculous game they’d first invented at school when on more than one occasion they’d ended up with bruised fingers and knuckles as they had to endure the torture from their so called friend whilst pretending to feel no pain!)  
Oggy he noticed had turned his attention to Miss Staunton and was in full, intense stare mode, allowing Nick the opportunity of sneaking away from the wall and into a position where he could leave.

The raised hand, knuckle graze with his recently shaved, smooth lips thing worked it’s magic again, and the rather giggly Miss Staunton was under the Cormoran, or rather Cameron spell.

Nick edged away without being missed and flashed a quick glance around the room for the mark. She was in conversation with one of the other gentlemen, Nick noted smugly that the idiot had fastened his cravat incorrectly and physically shook himself for being such a twat!

However, he did notice a rather flattering number of eyes sneaking glances at him….and he actually had permission to get the details of random single women…..it was what he was there for….  
“Good evening, I’m Nicholas Howard. You look remarkably well this evening,” he addressed to an almost panting, doe eyed young lady with freckles who was staring blankly back at him, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

Nick had a flash of smug pride and sympathy….he was a dude in this get up!

Strike carefully hid his amusement as his friend seemed to inhabit his role and work his way around the room, receiving several cards and details from women.  
He himself had a pocket containing more than 8 cards….he felt a little bad that none would receive a call from him, well, one would, but only for the purpose of getting her hopefully arrested!  
Strike indicated as best he could that he was heading for the gents toilets and saw out of the corner of his eye that Nick was heading across too.

Tucked down an oak panelled corridor the relative sanctuary of the loo was a relief.   
Strike quickly checked the stalls and slumped, as best as he could in his tight clothing, against the sinks, one booted foot resting against the wall, to wait for his friend.

“Ruddy hell! We are like fucking catnip!” Nick exclaimed upon closing the door behind him.

Strike laughed at his adrenaline fused body as he paced up and down before he used the urinal.  
“This flap is ace!” he announced as he rebuttoned and adjusted himself before washing his hands.  
Strike nodded, but tried to refocus his friend, “I know it’s all very ego boosting, but have you chatted to our mark yet?”

Nick shook his head, “No, but I’ve given her a look and she sort of waggled her eyebrows a bit…I reckon she’ll be receptive to the old Nicholas Howard charms!”

“Easy Tiger! Remember this is all pretend…..you go home to Ilsa, your wife!” Strike stated, rather threateningly.

“Oh, I know…..it’s just, quite a nice little ego boost…..especially since our outfits are by far the best out there!”

“”I know! Did you see that idiot’s cravat?….completely wrong!” Strike found himself stating as he tugged down his waistcoat and jacket before re-ruffling his hair and indicating that he was ready to go back out.

Hand on the door knob he addressed Nick, “Seriously though, get her card and then get home to Ilsa….no need for you to hang around longer than needed. I’ll stay til I see you get the card off Amanda the I’m off too….and thanks for this. There aren’t many men who would agree to dress like this and attempt to pick up random women for a friend!”

Making their way back out into the throng Nick headed in the direction of Amanda Chadwick’s fluttering eyelashes and beckoning bosom, who was located in one of the smaller rooms away from the main entrance room.   
People were still arriving and being introduced, and Strike noted that the male count seemed to have increased.  
He made his way towards the drinks tray and froze as the footman announced, “Miss Venetia Ellacott of Yorkshire.”


	5. I'm not firing you this time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter we have Robin coming face to face with the make over of Strike into Mr Darcy/Rochester!  
I had fun with them 'playing' in the library.....trying to keep in character but desperately wanting to be Strike and Robin....because they are just RIGHT together!

In the same mantel mirror Cormoran watched as Robin walked calmly into the group of people, a demure but mischievous smile on her deliciously darkened lips.  
Robin caught sight of him instantly and swallowed down a small whimper at the image of him with his back towards her, his weight resting on his full leg, giving his hips a rakish twitch as he leant against the marble fireplace.  
With a deep inhalation he turned around and was rewarded with the sight of a clearly flustered Robin as she took in his smooth chin and lips, broad shoulders, narrow waist and those tight, tight cream trousers.

Robin’s normally calm equilibrium was performing back flips as she regarded her work colleague.

Cormoran’s equilibrium had floated out of the door of Apsley House when her heard her name, so the sight of so much of her smooth, creamy flesh, her elegant neck and those mesmerizing blue-grey eyes facing him in the dimming and rather flattering candle lit splendour was just an added metaphorical slap to his face.

He mentally registered that his undergarments were not particularly forgiving and willed himself not to get an erection as he cleared his throat and stared intensely at her,  
“Miss…..Ellacott was it?” and he reached out, grasped her fingers and pressed them against his perfectly smooth and soft lips.

She swallowed a small moan at the feel of his skin – so ridiculously soft, and cool – and met his gaze with her own, seductively dark stare.  
He didn’t, or rather couldn’t release her hand and found himself rubbing his thumb across her knuckles and the perfect smoothness of her fingers and after what felt like forever, but was probably seconds he realised she was squeezing his hand back, and stroking against his wrist with the tip of her finger.

The wild and intimate moment that they’d shared in the Tottenham came flooding back, only this time Cormoran could see the physical reaction of his proximity to her in the way her delicious breasts heaved and almost burst from the neckline of her soft, magenta coloured gown.

In a lowered voice; his mouth perilously close to her neck he whispered, “I told you I didn’t need you on this job.”

“The last time I went against your instructions you fired me,” she whispered, flashing one of her eyebrows at him.

Out of the corner of his eye Cormoran spotted ‘Bad Cravat’ making a beeline for Robin, his eyes on stalks and his mouth unflatteringly open.  
“I’m not firing you this time. Come on,” and he steered her forcefully but calmly through a couple of rooms and into a small library where he closed the door behind them. “You look amazing,” he breathed as she stood close to him amidst the volumes, gilt finishes and rich, green velvet upholstery.

“I was thinking something similar about you…..your beard! I mean, I can see your…..lips,” her eyes focussed very specifically on the slightly crooked, pink skin of his upper lip.  
He nodded minimally, his eyes fixed upon the creamy expanse of flesh visible above the neckline of her gown, the glorious shadowed chasm between her rounded breasts inviting him to sink down and lose himself there. 

Christ, he was nearly losing himself just standing looking at her!

“How many cards have you been given then?” she asked, stepping back slightly from the overwhelmingly masculine scent of him.  
Strike used the slight space between them as a mental as well as physical reminder about the need for valuing his work colleague’s skills rather than her delicious tits and chuckled slightly as he withdrew the small pile of cards he’d acquired throughout the evening so far.

“Well, this one is the mark….so I had to get that,” and he waggled one of the pieces of board between two of his fingers before securing it back into his waistcoat pocket, “…and these…”  
He didn’t finish the statement as the pile was swiped from his grasp by Robin who fanned them out as if she were playing a hand of poker.

“Hmmmm, let me see…..can’t have one of the most eligible bachelors in here settling for a less than worthy match can we?” her storm cloud eyes twinkled, as if lit by lightening flashes as she selected one of the cards apparently at random,  
“Miss Natalie Joyce….hmmmm, haven’t you heard about her family connections?”

Strike almost hid his delight at her game and played along, “Are they dubious?”

“Dubious?! Apparently the red hair of her father matches that of the game keeper rather than the lord of the manor….so ditch her,” and she tossed the card idly aside before taking a second from the pile,  
“Now, Miss Melissa Adams has no such issues,” she continued.

“No?” Strike rested back against a writing bureau and watched her animated amusement.

“Perfectly suitable family….of course you’ll have to forego all alcohol and smoking….very strict beliefs!” and she discarded the card in a similar louche manner.

Strike reached across and selected two of the cards from her fingers, “I was particularly keen on both of these….they seemed to have rather pleasing….attributes,” he smirked, allowing his eyes to linger at her chest, inwardly pleased by the noticeable hitch to Robin’s breathing.

“Oh those two….no…..it’s all padding! Trust me, I know their maid. “And these two can’t hold their wine…..my, my….I’m certainly slimming down your choices aren’t I?” she smiled as she tossed her own two cards aside and flicked the two Strike was holding aside too.

“You seem to have a decided interest in ensuring I don’t consider the wrong type of partner, Miss Ellacott!” Cormoran shifted slightly, resting his palms on the edge of the dark wooden table and staring across at Robin.   
The candlelit room and the rich red of his coat was incredibly attractive, and those big, hairy mitts of his looked rather delectable as they gripped the side of the bureau....she could almost envisage them gripping her headboard instead......

She ignored his comment and continued by plucking another card from her depleted array, “Now, Miss Claire Staunton…..very keen from what I hear…..but bossy….I mean which man wants a woman telling him what to do in the bedroom?” she purposefully met his electric gaze and could almost see his inner monologue playing out with a silent response of ‘I’ll give it a try!’

This card and another hit the floor as she simply tossed it aside with the description, “Too plain!”  
She had two cards remaining; holding one in each hand she approached Strike.  
“So, which of these two is the one for you?” 

Strike was definitely not misreading the signs she was flashing him….he was a detective after all!  
He took a slight step towards her, straightening up to full height and grasped the card in her right hand first.

“Well, this young lady was under the impression that Jane Austen was a character in Sense And Sensibility!” and he nodded at her expression of incredulity.

They dropped ‘character’ momentarily, “Seriously?” she demanded.  
Strike nodded, “Totally! Swore to God that Keira Knightly had made a great job of portraying her character in the film!” He winced, then sniffed and shook his head as he resumed the game, “So I take it you deem her unsuitable?”

“Oh definitely not suitable for a gentleman of your…..needs,” she sighed.

“That just leaves this one, “and he instantly threw aside the card to join the others littering the floor of the library.

“What was wrong with her?” Robin asked, peering up at him as he inched closer still, towering above her and staring down through eyes shot dark and wide with arousal.

“She doesn’t have grey eyes, or honey coloured hair that smells like cherry and vanilla….and she can’t break someone’s nose with the heel of her hand…and she would never, ever sift through bags of dog shit if I asked her to,” he was peppering his comments with soft presses of his lips to her forehead, hair, ears…pretty much any place he could manoeuvre his mouth to reach as he walked them both slowly across to an upholstered chaise longue by the fireplace.

Robin was almost numbly following him, although only his fingertips were touching her arm, and neck it was almost as though he had her in a magnetic field which she couldn’t withdraw from.   
All she knew was that Cormoran’s infinitesimally soft lips were tenderly caressing her skin…at fucking last!


	6. A little bit of smuttiness in the library.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986973  
So, this is the link to the delightful illustration that inspired me....very talented artist who has many more images on various fandoms.  
I asked permission to link to this - I know it is intended to be Darcy and Lizzie.....but as a friend said, "That could so easily be Tom under there!" ....so it has become Strike and Robin.  
This is Sunday afternoon smut.....it isn't too graphic....just graphic enough to be fun!!!

Strike felt the edge of the low sofa behind his left calf, he still barely dared touch Robin……he just needed to be absolutely sure.

“Just so you know……in the Tottenham on Saturday……I wanted to kiss you,” he stated, stroking his knuckles softly against her smooth cheek.

“Just so you know….in the Tottenham on Saturday…..I wanted you to…..and I’m not letting another opportunity go.”  
Reaching her hand up she found the top of his tall collar and brought his face down as she lifted her eager mouth towards his, and finally they were kissing each other.

Robin had no idea what she was expecting, but this wasn’t it.  
His lips fluttered above hers, as if he was memorising the shape and contours of her mouth.  
His breath was hot and overwhelming as he tilted his chin slightly, his own hand snaking around to cradle her skull and position her face perfectly.  
He could feel her lips shaking under the light investigation of his own, and when he flicked the tip of his tongue against her top lip the slight sob and buckle of her knees almost drove him to lose his control.  
Instead, he held her firmly, but gently angled and parted her lips with the pressure of his own before kissing her in earnest, the way he had wanted to since…..Christ knows when; maybe since that terrible hospital visit over Jack, maybe since that fucking staircase on her wedding day maybe since that night in Barrow…..maybe since she brought in that borrowed tray of coffee and biscuits about an hour after he’d first met her.  
All he knew is that he was kissing her now; and if she came to her senses and told him it was all a mistake he intended for this kiss to satisfy his fantasies into forever.

She tasted warm, sweet and like heaven…and she was kissing him back. The soft moans and noises of pleasure emanating from her as he plundered her mouth with his tongue thrilled every nerve in his body.  
Her hand was scraping into his dark curls as she locked his mouth against her, unwilling to ever break the magic of what was finally happening.  
Her other hand pressed and felt the various textures of him; the soft wool of his coat, the smooth, taut silk of his waistcoat and all the while the broad, firm musculature of his chest beneath.  
She was also incredibly aware of the pressure beneath his breeches, made more evident when his hand slipped down her back, nestled in the soft curve above her backside and dragged her to press against him.  
It was his turn to emit a mumbled groan, followed by a swift grunt as she pushed him back to sit on the seat behind him, she scrambled above him, roughly hitching up her long gown to provide enough leg room to be able to straddle his hips.

The connection of her most intimate, soft parts to the firmness of his own drew gasps and moans of pleasure from them both as he wrapped his arms firmly around her and encouraged the rocking motion of her hips against his.  
“Fuck, Robin…..” he whispered as she tangled her hands again through the soft curls of his hair.  
“If you want me to stop you’ll have to make me,” she panted, sucking his lower lip and biting gently down on it as his hands swarmed over her back and buttocks, pressing and squeezing at the perfect, rounded flesh beneath the flimsy folds of fabric.

Robin was completely giving in to the moment; her hips and mound pressing against the unmistakable stiffness in his trousers was intoxicating, and each slight movement combined with his large, firm hands splaying against and pressing her back against him was exquisite.

She didn’t want it to go too far….she presumed he wouldn’t have a condom tucked into his regency top coat for starters!.....but she didn’t want the feeling of sensual abandon to end either.

Strike couldn’t believe she was finally in his arms….well, dry humping him within an inch of his life more accurately…….and he was not quite willing to let her go just yet, although even naturally ‘look on the negative side of life and you won’t get disappointed’ Cormoran Strike was starting to believe that maybe Robin fancied him afterall!

Each roll of her hips was a mixture of heaven and torment.  
The part he so desperately wanted to explore and devour separated from him by a couple of layers of thin material. But for now, the pleasure of sliding his tongue inside her own eager mouth, stroking his hands across her soft undulations, glorying in the tiniest trace of bare flesh available to him was like mountain water trickling through his thirsty body.

“Do you need to go back out there?” Robin panted, clutching his cheeks between her hands and stroking the delightful contrast of freshly shaved skin and soft hairs along his jaw.  
He shook his head, mumbling his response, unwilling for his lips to leave hers for longer than necessary, “No….said I’d hang around until Nick was done….but he’ll be fine.”  
“Shall we go then?” she stated bluntly, sobbing into his mouth as he brought his hands up across her ribcage and flicked his thumbs across the location of her nipples beneath the low neckline of her frock.  
“You’ll need to give me a minute……fuck knows how Mr Darcy managed not to be walking around with a tent pole in his breeches the whole bloody time!” he quipped as she slithered from his lap and gave a slight wriggle to adjust her own clothes.

Nick had successfully reeled in Amanda Chadwick, or rather had succeeded in letting her believe that she had reeled him in!  
It was actually quite fun….he enjoyed having an alter-ego and pretending he was someone else for the evening; he could definitely see the appeal of a job like Oggy and Robin’s….it was certainly never dull!  
With the card neatly stashed away in his pocket he glanced around the room for Strike, he couldn’t see him, but he’d said he would hang around, so presumably he was somewhere smouldering his way towards another damp gusset.  
Pleasing though the evening had been in terms of boosting his ego, there was really only one woman he wanted to see now, so he made his way towards the foyer and requested the car using which the agency had agreed to provide for Mr Howard.  
In no time at all he was winding his way through the streets, and reunited with his phone was sending a quick text to Oggy telling him of his success and location, and a second to Ilsa informing her that he was on his way home.

His phone rang a few minutes later:  
I : Hi…..so none of those society ladies could tempt you Mr Herbert?  
N : Hmmmm, not really….all of them lacked that certain something that I go for.  
I : And what’s that?  
N : A wedding ring….and glasses…..and presumably a ridiculously sappy grin because of what I’m wearing! [he chuckled as he heard her squeal slightly and knew without having to see her that she would be waggling her sock clad feet against the sofa, or bed, or floor!]  
I : Well…..get yourself back here and we’ll see if anything meets your approval….love you [kiss]  
N : I love you…see you soon [kiss]


	7. Elizabeth Bennett never had to contend with this!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, we now have some naughty smut taking place in the back of the taxi.  
In case you don't know, skew whiff is a Northern term that means wonky, or unkempt, or not straight.

Robin and Cormoran made their way out of the secluded library separately. They had hastily agreed that they’d make their way to the main foyer and leave together in the car provided for him…she had apparently got there by tube, which he found both perfectly believable of Robin’s practicality and wonderfully charming!

She felt his eyes boring into her as she was approached by four different Georgian clad singletons on her way to traverse the room. She gracefully accepted the cards they thrust into her hand but stated calmly to each that she had unfortunately been called into work and needed to leave.  
The sight of Cormoran being openly ogled by several drooling women at the party – presumably ones who had not as yet slid their cards his way - was very alluring as she knew he was taking her home and nobody else!

Eventually they both found themselves in the foyer, Cormoran having already requested a car once he got back his phone and established that Nick had been successful in his mission and was on his way to fulfil an infinitely more pleasurable one at Octavia Street!  
The sight of Robin’s seductive eyes stirred him again, but he needed to be certain.

“You sure? You can change your mind….we can forget this ever happened if you’re having second thoughts,” he stated, his eyes giving away his pleading hope that she would not change her mind at this stage.  
She shook her head and laced her fingers through his, leading him towards the door and the waiting vehicle.  
“This is happening…..I’m not waiting any longer,” and she giggled slightly as he sharply inhaled and allowed his limbs to be guided outside by the merest tug of her elegant, perfect fingers.

Once in the back seat Strike gave the driver details of his flat.  
“That, by the way Ellacott, was incredibly unladylike behaviour in a library!” he growled mischievously in his rumbling, deep baritone.

Robin tilted her chin slightly, effecting an almost haughty manner, “Well, I’m willing to bet you can match it for most ungentlemanly behaviour in the back of a car….oh, and by the way….your cravat’s gone skew whiff!” she smirked, still not shifting her languid gaze from the privacy screen between the back seat and front cabin of the car.  
Strike on the other hand couldn’t tear his gaze away from the confident beauty of the woman beside him….he wanted her beside him in everything he did.  
“Where d’ya get your frock by the way? Surely Ilsa didn’t get that too?” he asked, his practical mind taking over from the wild thoughts of what she would look like laid on his bed.

She grinned, briefly twisting her neck around, “No….Louis – they’re doing some period drama next week….he’s playing a bumbling cousin from the country – so he said I could borrow this from one of the cast as long as he gets it back, intact,” she purposefully arched her eyebrow and pursed her lips at the final word.

Strike shifted his position on the seat fractionally, twisting his body towards her and cleared his throat, meeting her alluring gaze.  
“Well, I’ll bear that in mind later……just let me satisfy my curiosity though….and of course fulfil my challenge of being incredibly roguish on a back seat,” and with that he reached his hand down and slid it beneath the flimsy fabric of her gown, stroking his way up the slender softness of her legs, encased in silk stockings.   
He gasped as his hand splayed across her knee, up to her thigh, feeling the ties holding them up and finding naked skin above.

“I’ve gone historically accurate….only I didn’t have pantaloons…..so…..oh fuck,” her final statement coincided with an equally adjectival breathy grunt of his own as he realised the end of her statement was ‘so I’m not wearing any!’

His fingers teased gently at the juncture of her thighs, stroking the soft hairs he discovered and pressing carefully into the crevice she was making available to him by parting her thighs as she clung once more to his cheeks and tousled hair.  
“Do you want me to?” he moaned into her ear, the heat from his breathe almost making her melt.  
“God yes,” she whimpered, and stifled the small, uncontrolled sob from her throat by sucking onto his mouth as he slid his fingers dexterously against her silken, hot folds.   
Her wetness was intoxicating; knowing that she was this excited and turned on to be with him was stoking the flames of need within him and he toyed with her, sliding his fingers either side of her, using her own sticky juices to find his way to where she clearly wanted him.

“Ungentlemanly enough for you Miss Ellacott?” he whispered, seductively, circling her entrance tantalisingly and pressing his own thigh against her knee to keep her legs parted for him, the fabric of her gown covering her modesty and his arm.

“I think you can do better,” she hissed. Then her head pitched forward into the solid weight of his shoulder creating a natural muffle to her slightly strangled gasp as he pressed a finger inside her.  
He slid knuckle deep inside her, and then frustratingly for her remained perfectly still.   
He enjoyed feeling her twitch and try to buck her hips into the intrusion, his thigh preventing her from moving.

“Now, if I was a complete rogue I’d stay exactly like this….for the whole way home,” he hissed, licking into her mouth and pulling away as her lips and tongue tried to tempt him. 

Robin was shimmering with a sheen of sweat to her forehead as she struggled to remain relatively quiet when every fire of her being wanted to scream at him to ‘make me cum you sexy fucking bastard’…..but this she knew was definitely not language becoming of Elizabeth Bennett…..however Elizabeth Bennett had presumably never found herself with her legs splayed and Mr Darcy threatening to finger her senseless in the back of a carriage!.......or maybe she had?!?

She was just beginning to lose control when she felt the blissful warmth melt her from the waist down as he moved his finger and stroked deep within her, somehow angling his actions perfectly to hit the little spot of heaven nestled inside her.  
He covered her lips with his own, plundering her mouth in a messy, breathy rhythm to match the confident and apparently incredibly proficient action of his hand.  
Just as he was winding her higher, almost to the point where she could only possibly crash back down he ceased abruptly and flashed her a menacingly impish grin, “You need to get up two flights of stairs for the rest Miss Ellacott!”

“Oh…you bastard,” she purred, panting and trying to catch her breath, “I will definitely be getting my own back!”

“Never doubted it,” he quipped as he exited the car, thanked the driver and closed the door after her, the contrast between their attire compared to the recently refurbished buildings of Denmark Street and it’s modern day London hustle not lost on him as they received several furtive glances from passers by.

“Well go on, you’ve got keys,” he smiled as she waited at the door.  
She grinned and fished her office keys from her small drawstring bag.

“I’ve only got them for the office though,” she grinned.  
He arched his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose, “Nahhh, actually the office one opens my flat too,” he grinned at her shocked expression.  
“And when where you going to tell me that?” she shrieked.  
“When you needed to know,” he answered, pressing her against the wall on the first floor landing and subjecting her mouth to a diligently thorough investigation before allowing her to continue up past the office and on towards his flat on the top floor.

She sighed and shook her head ruefully as the key slid into the lock and opened the door.  
“So, you’re telling me that all this time I could have sneaked up here while you were in bed and……” she trailed off, unable to think of the correct word to describe her thoughts.  
“…and what? Perved?” he grinned, his eyes glittering in the soft light from the neon signs below the windows. “Yeah….you could’ve….and you never did.”

He flicked on the small table lamp which gave a soft additional glow to the room.  
“I’d better make up for it now then,” she whispered and slid her hands across the fabric of his burgundy coat, “Although I’m a little reluctant to say goodbye to this whole Mr Rochester thing,” she pouted slightly as she smoothed her hands across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms.

“Rochester? Ilsa seemed to think I had more of a Mr Darcy vibe going on,” he stated, allowing his hands to slide around her hips, and shuddering with the recollection that she was commando beneath.

Robin eased the heavy, fitted coat from his shoulders and allowed her hands to trail across his body as she walked slowly around him, her eyes appraising the tautness of his waist encased in the black silk of his waistcoat, and the tightness of his cream breeches which were stretching quite perfectly across his pert backside and muscled thighs.   
She’d never seen him in anything so well fitted before…and he never wore shorts….so his amazing arse was quite a delightful revelation.

“Hmmmm, no I always had more of a thing for Mr Rochester,” she stated innocently, her eyes becoming darkly seductive as she continued, “He always seemed like he’d be better in bed!” and with a flick of her eyebrows she emitted a squeal as he grasped her firmly and almost flung her across his bed.

“Mr Rochester it is then,” he snarled, opening the buttons of his waistcoat and discarding it with almost obscene confidence before crawling up the bed beside her and claiming her mouth and body in a way that would have made Jane Eyre blush…..she’d have loved it….but she’d definitely have blushed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are 2 more chapters of complete smut planned - if you prefer not to you can end your story here, and thank you for reading.  
If you want more of the smuttiness we'll have a Nick and Ilsa chapter followed by a Robin and Strike one....I hasten to say I have written neither yet, but I shall get tapping on the keys!


	8. Strike and Robin...and then THIS happened!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very E rated smut.....what happened after that very X rated taxi ride to Strike's flat.

He already knew that her clothing other than her actual dress was rather scant to say the least, and he was eager to reacquaint himself with the delightful moisture between her legs….he’d almost tipped her over the edge in the car….now he intended to do it completely.  
He lifted up the fabric of her gown and marvelled at her languidly twitching legs, encased to just above her knees in pale coloured stockings, silkier and thicker than standard ones held up with a suspender belt.   
They had adorable ribbon ties around the tops, creating just a tiny bulge of soft flesh above each on her thigh.

“This Recency underwear stuff is rather kinky….you want to see what I’m rocking under these,” he waggled his eyebrows as he indicated his cream trousers.  
Robin purred slightly, squirming under the caressing touch of his hands against her legs, hips and waist. “I do want to see…..but I love what you look like wearing these,” and she slithered down in order to wrap her body and importantly, her hands around his thighs and buttocks.

He gazed down at her languid eyes, “So…? You want me to keep this lot on?” he asked.  
She grinned and bit her lip, shaking her head slightly, making the small pony tail of amber curls bob. “No….the waistcoat off is fine, and you can loosen this,” she applied her fingers to the fabric at his throat, whimpering somewhat as she removed it and the collar fell apart.   
She hadn’t realised that his shirt fastened with only one button, almost mid way down his chest, so a ridiculously sexy amount of his dark chest was exposed to her as soon as she took away the long strip of linen.  
Her teasing tongue found it’s way beneath the flimsy fabric of his shirt and her hands scratched across his shoulders as she moaned her way down his chest, his own hands sliding around the bodice of her gown, thanking whoever invented fashion trends that the materials used were so thin, he could feel her nipples hardening beneath the firm attention of his thumbs.

“Is this actually happening then?” he panted, grasping her neck and pulling her mouth back towards his own, his words mumbled against her hungry lips.  
He felt her nod against his slightly sweating forehead, and became aware of her hands moving around to tackle the buttons on the flap of his trousers…once more the wondrous flappy breeches were applauded in his head…. he realised he was slightly running through why men had decided to replace them with nasty metal zips that could be responsible for bits getting painfully trapped….but once Robin’s hand beneath the fabric and rubbed against his cock he didn’t care anymore and he unsurprisingly lost his train of thought!

“I don’t suppose regency men carried condoms did they?” she gasped, her eyebrows flicking in silent contemplation at the size and solidity of him beneath her fingers.  
“I think the ones that did were generally considered to be scoundrels,” he smirked before hastily forming his mouth into a tight ‘0000’ as she somehow located the split in his braies and encircled his hot, hard cock with her hand.  
“Well? Are you a scoundrel or not?” she whispered seductively, moving her hand in one slow, deliberate action along his shaft to the very tip before ghosting lightly across it and dragging some of the moisture leaking from it back down until her hand nestled in the soft, dense hair around it’s base.  
“I’m whatever you want me to be, Robin,” he snarled, cupping his hand below the nape of her neck and forcing her to make eye contact with him. “This doesn’t have to happen tonight….much as it may seem to the contrary, I can wait!”

Robin looked deeply into the intense, green eyes staring back at her, wishing briefly that she could achieve lashes like his without the aide of mascara, and smiled softly at him.  
“I want this….I want it tonight and I want it not just tonight…..is that OK?” she stated as calmly as she could manage.

His nod was enough.

Their lips found each other again in a breathless, needy connection; soft moans of delight combining with deeper toned grunts of desire.   
He somehow managed to pull away, murmuring against her pouting lips to “Hang on, just a second,” as he took the three strides necessary to reach his bathroom cabinet and rip a condom from the long, perforated strip before returning to where Robin had backed against his small table.

“Scoundrel it is,” he grinned, flashing his eyebrows before dropping to his knees in front of her and almost disappearing under the muslin of her gown.   
Robin managed a soft squeal of surprise before she hastily gathered the metres of soft fabric up to her thighs and was able to gaze down at Strike’s dark curls nestling between the peachy skin visible above her tied stockings.  
His breath was hot and intoxicating so close to her desperate center. 

“God Robin, you’re exquisite,” he murmured before delving his tongue between her wet folds, groaning with her taste and grasping her hips firmly as her knees buckled slightly.  
She slipped her foot out of the black ballet pumps she’d worn (not historically accurate, but the actress using the frock had bigger feet than her!) and dragged her toes up Strike’s side, enjoying the rough snarl he made as his hand slid up to bend her knee more and rest her foot against the arm of the easy chair.   
It enabled him greater access, and he wasted no time exploring every inch and crevice that she was making available to him with his talented tongue.

He hadn’t done this in a while, and he certainly hadn’t done it beardless in a while.   
The sensation was one he always enjoyed, but this…..with Robin’s perfect thighs parting for him, and the soft down of her hair against the smoothness of his upper lips and chin….it was fucking brilliant!

Robin’s head dropped back on her neck as she gave herself over to his detailed and incredibly thorough investigation of her most intimate parts, and she felt a tightness beginning to curl around within her.  
“Cormoran,” she panted, staring down as he pulled himself away and looked up; mouth open, lips shimmering with her juices and eyes blown wide with arousal.  
She said nothing more, but her grey eyes beckoned to him like a lighthouse in a storm, and he pulled himself up between her open legs, his erection still obediently ready and waiting at the opening of his breeches.  
He flicked the condom in his fingers, saw her nod, heard her sob and tore it open, still watching as she dropped her gaze to where he was stretching and unrolling it across his length.  
Her eyes lifting to his and her fingers wrapping around his biceps acted like a starting pistol to his already primed senses.  
He slid his splayed hands up her thighs and across her deliciously soft arse, his mouth sought out hers and his cock sought out it’s desired location, nestling between her wetness as she clung to him, whispering what she wanted him to do next.

With a thrust forwards and a firm grasp at her thigh he pressed inside her welcoming heat, biting his lip at her tightness around him, and not quite managing to stifle a shout of complete pleasure as she shifted her leg higher and wrapped it around his hips.  
He moved further inside her, using her hips to pull her closer, glorying at the feeling of being so deeply nestled within her.  
She panted and clutched tightly, almost painfully to his shoulders…..she couldn’t believe how completed and full she felt.

Cormoran looked at her, one of his hands brushing against her cheek, bringing her back slightly from where she had drifted to….he needed to check that it was a good place….that she felt safe with him….that she wanted more.

“Yeah?” he whispered, tenderly meeting her glazed expression and breaking into a soft eyed smile as she relaxed her grip enough to trail her hand up to the nape of his neck, angling his face infront of her so that she could deliver a deep, passion filled kiss to his mouth as he drew back his hips and began to move inside her, with her, meeting the pulsing pleasure of her hips against his own.

His knee would ache like buggery in the morning, but he didn’t give a fuck!   
Wild horses couldn’t have pulled his hips in the opposite direction as he felt her tense and clench down around him, sobbing into his neck, and he was surprised the condom didn’t split with the ferocity of his ejaculation inside her.  
He held her up, her leg sliding down to rest back against the chair as they breathed deeply and tried to regain normal vision.

“Can I please take this stuff off now and take you to bed properly,” he panted, his nose dragging soft patterns against her glowing forehead.  
She grinned blissfully and nodded, “My legs feel a bit unsteady though,” she murmured.  
“Your legs do?!” he quipped, grinning.

Strike dealt with the condom and disposed of it in the bathroom bin whilst Robin took the opportunity to remove her dress (it was in one piece, although it probably needed a whizz on a 40 degree wash!) and take the various clips and pins out of her hair.  
She was standing naked and toying with a reluctant one that was tangled in her hair at the back when Strike re entered the room.

“Hmmmmm, I could definitely get used to that as a view!” he grinned, walking over to her and waiting for her to turn slightly before sliding his hands around her waist and sucking on her shoulder.  
“Well, you are now definitely over-dressed….and much as I quite enjoyed the whole Mr Rochester thing, I’d quite like to experience the whole Cormoran Strike thing too….if that’s OK with you,” she smiled, finally managing to remove the clip and poking him on the tip of his nose with it.

He inhaled deeply before replying, “It isn’t too dissimilar, although I am usually able to keep control of things for a bit longer……sorry if that was a bit fast and furious,” he winced slightly.  
Robin however puffed out her cheeks and shook her head, “Er…..that thing we just did over there….it was wonderful…..I don’t usually…..well, I normally need a lot more than that to….enjoy it.”  
Strike’s eyes twinkled mischievously, “Do you mean Matthew didn’t used to make you cum…and I did?”  
“Don’t look so smug!” she grinned, pushing him back the step or two needed to reach the bed in Strike’s miniscule bedroom.  
He shook his head however, “No, no…not smug at all…..the pressure’s on now to replicate it once these bad boys come off,” and he indicated his boots and breeches as he sat on the edge of the bed and started to wrangle his left leg free from the stiff leather.

Robin slid across the covers beside him and lazily tried to distract him by tracing patterns on his shirt with her foot, her hair now fanning out across one of the pillows in a style he’d often imagined.  
Once the boot was off he unfastened the buttons at the knees of his breeches and peeled them off before removing his leg and the silicone cuff along with the other boot and trouser leg which he’d deal with in the morning.   
He dragged the voluminous fabric of his shirt over his frankly disastrous hair and stood, balancing himself with the ceiling beam to unfasten the ties at the waist of the ridiculous braies.

Behind him Robin giggled, “What?” he turned and glared, trying to look threatening.  
“They are really very sexy in an odd and slightly kinky way,” she giggled, toeing at the leg hanging loosely over his stump.  
“Well, make the most of it, cos they are going in a drawer, never to see the light of day again,” he stated, “Although if we’re ever short of dusters….”  
“…or a spare sheet!” she quipped cheekily, only to erupt into fit of resonant laughter as he removed the offending article and leapt across her, wrestling her naked body around and attacking her sides with animalistic snuffles and licks.

Once he’d crawled back up beside her, both of them pink cheeked and breathless, but smiling and glowing, he gently caressed the strands of hair from her face with his wide palm, his thumb trailing across her lip.  
“You’re so beautiful….in every possible way. You’re truly…..truly beautiful,” he punctuated his statement with soft kisses to her eyelids before capturing her mouth in a tender kiss, full of the desires and feelings he’d been kept hidden.  
Robin surrendered herself to him, she heard herself sob into his mouth as he stroked his tongue against hers, languidly sucking each lip before returning to possess her mouth with his own.

She felt him growing hard against her once more and knew that she was aroused for him again.   
He moved his lips fluidly down her neck, sucking at the softness of her skin, inhaling her scent and biting gently against her collarbones as he continued travelling down the centre of her chest.  
His hand, splayed against her back, held her against him as he nuzzled across the feminine roundness of her breasts, sucking each nipple to a hard peak and teasing his talented tongue across the taut, puckered skin.  
Robin was torn between grinding her head back against the pillow or watching as his closed lids fluttered and she caught glimpses of his pink tongue and teeth mingling with her rose coloured nipple.

It felt exquisite.

She was almost delirious with pleasure.

She realised her hands had been grasping the covers and brought them to stroke against the smooth, muscular skin of his back, earning a throaty moan from Strike who slid his own hands across her back.  
Robin knew that she was already wet, and she felt the need to find something to ease the almost painful tingle between her legs.   
Squirming slightly she eased herself onto her side, Cormoran she noticed adjusted his position but didn’t cease his oral examination of her breasts, he merely dropped his hand down to cup her arse, squeezing at the rounded flesh.  
Hitching her bent leg up, across his thigh she felt him growl slightly and his hand moved to toy between her legs at the soft folds she was making accessible to him.  
She knew she was close to orgasming again, and Strike was fairly sure he was along the right lines when she hissed, “Fuck, Cormoran,” and fisted her hands into his hair.

He could have happily kept going, made her unravel with his mouth and fingers alone, but she pushed him back and rolled to straddle him, trapping his leaking cock between his belly and her furred mound.  
Her flexibility and the sensation of her rubbing against his rigid length caused him to break away from her breasts and hiss a blasphemous declaration of his own.

Robin pressed herself up and steadied herself with her palms pressed against his dark and densely haired chest, flicking her fingers delicately and adorably against his small, hard nipples which were nestled within, almost hidden from view.  
Each flicker of her nails was a mixture of torment and heaven, and when he tilted his neck and caught sight of her easing back along him, dragging his foreskin back to reveal his needy, red head he almost lost control.

“Are they in the bathroom?” she pouted, rubbing her slippery folds against the ridged solidity of him, almost sliding too far and stilling herself, lips clasped between her teeth.  
Cormoran nodded, trying vainly to regulate his breathing and stop himself from venturing where he knew he shouldn’t go ‘undressed’!  
Robin gave one further grind of her hips before pushing herself off him and stumbling slightly into the bathroom, wrenching open the small wall cabinet and dragging out the entire strip of condoms.

Strike laughed and raised his eyebrows, “You’re a bit overly confident in my abilities aren’t you?”  
Robin however merely regarded his impressive erection and pouted, “So far I’m very confident in your abilities, Mr Strike……I’m just not completely convinced my legs will cope with much more of these orgasm thingies you seem so determined to give me!”  
“Oh, well, then allow me to test out that theory, “ and he snatched at the condoms, removing one and dropping the remainder beside the bed.   
He was about to slide it on when Robin instead replaced his hands with her own and deftly covered his cock, causing him to buck up into her grip slightly and sweat profusely as she gave a few more strokes to make sure it was completely on.

He'd pulled himself up onto his elbows and stroked the soft skin of Robin’s thighs as they clasped his own hairy ones. She was leaning forward, her hair creating an amber-gold curtain around their mouths as they kissed.   
He delved his tongue into her mouth, bucking his hips slightly and she made a noise of such complete surrender and need he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing it.  
He splayed his hands across her arse, angling her slightly so that he could find her entrance, and as soon as he was pressing lightly against her he felt her press down, taking him in one fluid movement. Her mound pressed against his belly, her downy, pale hairs mingling with his forest of dark ones.

Neither breathed for a moment, and then she pressed up and was undulating rapturously against him, sighing and whispering about how good he felt, how perfect it was, how much she wanted him.  
And he was panting back, murmuring into her neck how perfect she felt, how beautiful she was, how he didn’t want this to stop.

He pressed further up, resting his weight on his hands, almost sitting as Robin lay back, her breasts moving in a rhythm of their own as their hips found a delicious, deep, slow pace together.

Gently he coaxed her legs around him, and she crossed her ankles behind him, gripping onto him tightly as their pace increased.   
He licked at the shimmer of salty sweat covering her neck and eased her breast back to his mouth, sucking on the nipple as she cried out and dug her nails into his back, scratching across his shoulders and hearing him hiss as she broke the skin.

“God Robin…..I need to cum……cum with me….Robin……fuck….oh god, yeah,” he gasped and choking back his shouts as he began to see stars.  
Robin was floating high above the Soho streets, but Cormoran’s muffled utterance of her name brought her back to the attic room; back to being in Strike’s arms, back to being brought to the peak of pleasure by the man who was almost sobbing as his hips thrust up into her.  
The sight of him losing all control was like a dam bursting and she shouted his name once before feeling herself tremble around him and felt him swell and pulse inside her.  
He pulled at her hips, as if trying to create a boneless bond between them as they both shattered with complete pleasure, clinging to each other and pressing kisses against any part of the person in their arms their mouths could find.

They remained locked together, gradually coming down from their sex induced highs.   
Cormoran stroked her back, Robin muttered his name repeatedly and eventually their sweaty foreheads found each other and they just smiled.

“So?....do you prefer Mr Rochester or plain old me?” he asked, kissing her softly and repeatedly as Robin remained sitting on his lap, his softening cock not quite fully withdrawn from her.  
She purred and dragged her fingers through his unruly, dark curls, “I like you,” she smiled.  
“Good,” he smiled back, “Because I really, really like you.”  
“I like this,” she murmured, nuzzling his damp cheeks.  
He squeezed her tighter, his arms wrapped around her soft back, “I do too.”

He sensed she was getting cold and to her tutting disapproval removed himself from her, clasping the neck of the condom and rolling to one side to remove it and knot it.  
When he rolled back she had slid under the covers and he sighed deeply.

“What?” she asked, her grey eyes peering at him like rain drenched pebbles. “What are you smirking at?”  
“Just you….in my bed…..finally!” and he smiled; a warm, crinkle-eyed, soft lipped smile of complete happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are so inclined the next chapter is the same but for Nick and Ilsa!!!  
Lula?.....Luuuula!!!! The next chapter is calling your name.


	9. Nick and Ilsa....and then THIS happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, especially for my pal LulaIsAKitten and anyone else who has developed a Nick Herbert thang!  
It's rude...and as usual for me there is a bit of fun going on too.  
Never one to shirk from a challenge I gave myself the added difficulty of writing sex talk in phonetic Cornish AND fake French......so please find your inner Poldark and Allo,Allo characters when you get to those bits!

The car pulled up in Octavia Street and Nick got out, realising that he didn’t have house keys with him.   
It felt slightly odd to have to ring the bell at his own house, and he tapped lightly on the patterned glass of the front door as well.  
The light was flicked on and he could see his wife’s outline. She was clearly moving to put on the chain before opening the door, and part of him loved her for being so careful. 

“It’s me….your husband,” he stated, grinning as he heard his wife make a small giggle of excitement behind the door.  
She opened the door and her eyes flew wide again at the sight. She had forgotten quite how delectable he looked in the few hours he’d been gone.

“My husband you say? Hmmm….let me just have a very thorough check….come into the living room and let me see you properly!” she grinned sauntering through to the lounge and casting a sexy glance over her shoulder.

He noticed that she was wearing a long, cotton nightdress – he’d bought it for her from an antique shop years ago because she’d said it looked beautiful……it still did, and she looked beautiful wearing it with her hair loose around her shoulders.  
In the dimmed light of the lounge Ilsa regarded her husband.   
He looked so sexy – the cream trousers highlighted his long, slender legs; the waistcoat added distinction and definition to his waist and the tailoring of the jacket….well, it could have given a seven stone weakling a muscular silhouette, so it gave Nick’s shoulders a wonderful additional broadness.  
As if knowing she was ogling him (he’d got quite used to the feeling throughout the evening!) he rested his buttocks against the back of the sofa and crossed his booted ankles, toying with the ruffle of soft cotton at his cuff as her eyes roved across every inch of him.  
He had to admit, it was sexy as fuck for his wife to be openly admiring him in this way.

“So….madam? And how have you spent your evening?” he asked, holding out his hand and tugging lightly on her fingertips to bring her closer to him.  
Ilsa smiled into his hazel eyes, “Basically I’ve been passing the time until you got back here…..by working out exactly what I was going to ask you to do to me!” she grinned saucily.  
Nick groaned deeply, pulling her towards him and nestling her between his splayed thighs.

“And what did you decide was first on your list?” he whispered, breathing close to her ear and enjoying the slight shiver it caused in her shoulders.  
Ilsa dragged her hands across the soft wool of his blue jacket and licked her tongue across her upper lip, “Well…I’m guessing that you were considered a highly eligible bachelor this evening?” her eyebrows arched up as a soft blush crept across her husband’s cheeks.  
“Second only to Cormoran ‘Call Me Darcy’ Strike…but yeah….I had quite a few ladies forcing their cards upon me…..you jealous?” he grinned, trying to run his nose against the softness of her cheek.

Pulling back she shook her head seductively, “Not jealous…….but possibly turned on….I mean, MY guy…..with all those women wanting him….it’s quite sexy!”  
She twisted her head over her shoulder and began to walk out of the living room, and Nick heard the familiar creak of the bottom stair….she clearly wasn’t in the mood to waste time….shame, as he’d got quite comfortable in his Mr Bingley gear.  
He followed and moved as if to take off his coat, but received a stern shake of Ilsa’s head.   
She was stood a few stairs up, slowly dragging the hem of her long nightgown higher and higher.

“I want MY time with this handsome, regency bachelor now…..so first on my list my darling Nicky is for you to come and find out how horny I am for you and for you to do something about it…….quickly!”

The gown had retreated to the point where Nick could see the neatly trimmed hairs between her legs, and her position slightly above him on the stairs meant that he could also see that there was a definite sheen on the pale skin of her inner thigh.  
Ilsa moaned as he placed one of his booted feet on the second stair and leaned himself towards her, sliding one of his hands under the folds of white, cotton voile and around her hips, and applying his other directly between her desperate, sodden lips.

Nick growled smugly, “Do you think all those women who passed me their cards were this wet for me?” he asked, peering up and inhaling sharply at the sight of her full breasts resting against the filmy pleats of the nightgown bodice, her dark nipples visible through the sheer fabric.  
Ilsa sobbed as his dextrous fingers slid exquisitely against her folds, toying around her entrance and pressing against, but not breaching her, despite her twitching efforts.

“Oh I think you might have been responsible for quite a few ruined gussets this evening……but I want what none of the others got,” and she squealed delightedly as he pressed one of his fingers inside her, stroking up and into her, rubbing against the place he knew made her dig her nails into his skin, although on this occasion he was slightly saved by the padding to the shoulders of his frock coat.

He glanced up and realised that Ilsa was staring unashamedly into the long mirror in the hallway, which was reflecting him, and most importantly his tightly clad buttocks as he rocked his body into his hand’s ministrations.   
The flaps on his tailcoat had parted to reveal the firmness of his backside and his foot resting on the stair gave a delicious definition to his left butt cheek, plus those shoulders!!!!

Ilsa almost purred as he slid in a second finger and speeded up his hand, grasping her quite firmly around her hip that made her wonder whether he’d leave marks….but she certainly wasn’t complaining.  
“You’re not the only one who had a list this evening,” Nick panted, circling his tongue against her mound and purposefully avoiding the little nub of nerves that she was trying to steer him towards.

Maintaining the action of his fingers he moved up and pressed her back against the stairs, crawling up above her and pointedly dragging her gaze towards the buttoned flap of his breeches.  
“Does your list start with something I might find in there?” she asked, giggling and beginning to unfasten the trio of buttons as Nick nodded and grunted his consent.

She reached her hand inside and gasped at the solidity she found within, wasting no time pulling him free and hitching up her knee so that she could push her foot onto the stair tread.  
Nick pulled out his fingers, brought them to her mouth and pressed them against her twirling tongue at the same time as he pressed his full length inside her.  
Both groaned loudly and they began to move immediately. Nick bearing his weight on his knee precariously and pulling his wife’s hips into each deep thrust of his cock inside her.  
Ilsa met his pace and pushed on her toes to match each pounding intrusion, glorying in his greedy desire for her.

“God, Ilsa…..you’re so fucking perfect,” he sobbed, hitching her thigh higher and matching her shout of delight as he somehow pressed more deeply inside her, his hips nestling tightly against hers.  
Ilsa grasped at her hands beneath his coat, roughly pushing it from his shoulders as the pace of his hips increased and she felt and heard that he was close.   
Glancing across at the mirror she bit back her own shout as she saw herself being fucked senseless on the stairs by her very own Mr Bingley.

It was all over pretty fast….but hey…..sometimes you want a four course meal, and sometimes you just fancy a quick burger!

Panting and giggling they altered their position on the stairs, making their footing slightly less precarious.  
“Did madam have anything else on her list?” Nick grinned, pressing soft kisses into his wife’s shimmering neck and nudging against her nipples beneath her nightgown.  
Ilsa sighed deliriously, “I hadn’t really got much past that….but I do like you wearing, or at least partially wearing these,” and she gripped her hands around his still tightly clad arse.  
“Well, how about we continue this upstairs and you can take that off…and I can leave these on?” he laughed, indicating her nightgown and tugging on his fitted waistcoat.  
“Oooh, nice idea,” Ilsa giggled and began scrambling up as Nick pressed himself back to stand on the stairs.

His wife was certainly in a flirty mood, and he was feeling rather virile in his ‘eligible and much lusted after bachelor’ garb.  
“Erm, actually….Ilsa….can we?…..do you fancy trying something?…..I just….since I’m all dressed up already…..just a bit of fun?” Nick asked, his cheeks blushing furiously, but his eyes soft and twinkling as he looked up at his wife’s still flushed cheeks.

She paused several steps further up the staircase and gave her husband an open mouthed, arched eyebrow glare, “Nicky Herbert….are you in the mood for a bit of kinky times?”  
He tweaked his neck and winced slightly, “Not completely kinky….just…..well, since I’m dressed like this…..do you fancy playing a bit of upstairs, downstairs…..you know, me as the Lord of the manor and you as my able chambermaid?”

Ilsa pouted her lips and made her eyes dart up to the ceiling as she pretended she needed more than a split second to consider her response, “OK,” she replied, “So, you are Master Nick and I’m what, humble chambermaid…..have you got a fantasy name in mind?”  
Nick wrinkled his nose as he thought; he loved her as Ilsa; HIS Ilsa, but this was a chance to go a bit adventurous, “What about Katy? Your middle name’s Caitlyn, so it’s close….that OK?”  
“Right Master Nick….go and get settled and I’ll come in and see to your every need!” and she waggled her eyebrows, dancing slightly on her bare feet at the top of the stairs as he cleared the rest of the staircase in a couple of wide strides.

Fucking hell….this was turning into a dream evening – hit on by a shit load of women, a fabulous shag with his wife and now a bit of role play kinky times with the sexiest woman he knew.

He bounded into their bedroom and hastily threw Ilsa’s fluffy bathrobe off the bed and considered where best to position himself; he decided on standing with his elbow resting on the tallboy unit with one hip dropped at a rakish angle.  
Ilsa was taking this as seriously as it required, she tapped softly on the door and waited until she heard her husband effect a deep instruction of ‘Enter.’

“I’ve been sent from downstairs, Sir. Is there anything you need me for?” she twinkled, fluttering her eyelashes in a demure but sexy fashion.  
Nick resisted the urge to squeal and clap his hands with glee and was about to issue her with a set of very clear instructions when he paused and broke character slightly,  
“Actually, could you go out again and come back in as Katy the Cornish chambermaid?” he asked enthusiastically.

Ilsa narrowed her eyes fractionally.   
Cornish….OK…..she could do Cornish. 

“OK….but go back to the tallboy and do that thing with your elbow on it again,” she instructed as she about turned and closed the door behind her.

Nick cleared his throat and forced his face to become a stern browed mask once more and waited for the same soft knock, “Enter.”  
“Oi’ve been sent frahm daownsturs, Sur. Is thur aanythin you waaahnt me fur,” she fluttered, adopting a more outlandish version of her native Cornish accent.  
She saw Nick swallow slightly and stifled her own sob as he twisted his body towards her and nodded intensely and slowly as he made his way across the bedroom to her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a deeply seductive growl.

“Oi’m Kayteee, Sur,” Ilsa wheedled, adopting what she hoped was a doe eyed look of innocence.

Nick inhaled sharply, “And do you know who I am, Katy?” he asked, allowing the back of his fingertips to graze across her heaving bosom which was struggling to be retained by her nightgown now that she had fastened the small tie under the bust tighter.  
“Yu’re Maaaastur Nick…..oi’ve been told to be a good gurl for ye, Sur. Do yu waaahnt me to be a good gurl….or a baaaad one?”

Nick was struggling to believe this was his clever, bad ass wife……she was adapting to the role beautifully…and it was as sexy as fuck!

“Well, what I want, Katy, is for you to come over to this bed and warm it up for me while I look at your pretty legs,” and he flicked his eyes in the direction of their familiar bed.  
Ilsa, or rather Katy, giggled slightly and scampered across to the bed, hoisting up her nightgown as she crawled across it, facing him and noticing his slack jawed expression at the sight of her breasts, loosely encased in white cotton as she ensured she was firmly atop the bed.

“Shall oi lift moiy skurts for yee, Maaaastur Nick?” and she demurely began to drag the fabric upwards, but Nick shook his head and instead leapt to the foot of the bed, grabbing her ankles and parting her legs before disappearing up under the fabric, his tongue trailing against her slightly salty thighs before he located her moist seam and began licking into her quite deliciously.

“Oh, Maaastur Nick! Oi’m a poor innocent lit’ul chaymburmayd….what are yee doin to me, Sur.” Ilsa was loving seeing her husband so fired up and passionate in this way, and she was delighting in how simple it was to get him this way….who knew Cornish could be so sexy!?!

He abruptly ceased and dragged his slightly ruffled face out from between her legs, breaking character again,  
“Actually Ils, I don’t think I thought through the Cornish thing….it’s not the sexiest accent….could you maybe try, I don’t know……Monique, the sexy French chambermaid?”

Ilsa puffed out her cheeks, “Fucking hell Nick! I’m not Rory fucking Bremner!” she shouted, exasperated at a further change to the plans, and also quite frustrated that Nick had stopped making her dissolve with his talented tongue.

“Oh pleeeaaase, Ilsaaaa….” Nick wheedled, stroking up under her nightgown again and leaning back, showing her quite clearly the effect she was having on him, “Please can you be sexy French chambermaid for Master Nick?!” and he pouted his mouth and flashed her his best ‘Bambi’ eyes.

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, she pursed her lips, “O, Monsieur Neeeek……ahy sink zis is not what we should be doeeng,” and to her satisfaction Nick resumed his oral onslaught on her nether regions with a snarling, wolfish grin.

After almost bringing Ilsa to a further, deliciously rough and rapid orgasm, Nick eased himself back on his haunches and began to unfasten the buttons of his grey, silk waistcoat with painful slowness.  
Ilsa struggled to remember her character, but watched, panting, her legs still spread for him, and looking like the epitome of a ravished wench.

“Monsieur, eeef you do zat to me aiy will ‘avf to screeeeem,” she finally managed to pout, noticing that Nick took a very definite breath in before his next move.  
“Then we’ll have to make sure no one hears, won’t we?” and he flipped her over onto her stomach, yanking her nightgown up roughly and pulling her hips towards his. 

He’d refastened the front of his breeches before they started and as he removed and threw aside his waistcoat he now fumbled to unfasten them again.  
Ilsa stifled her shocked gasp in the pillows and flew her eyes wide with a mixture of delight and surprise when she felt Nick pull her quite firmly, she might even say aggressively, up towards him.

It was such a change from her usual soft, mild and endearingly wonderful husband…..she rather liked Master Nick!

Twisting her neck slightly she bit her lip at the sight of her husband with his voluminous shirt and loosened cravat as he stroked across her arse with his palm, pursing his lips and definitely focussing his attention on where she was now pretty desperate for him to be.  
“Meester Neeeek…..what are you going to do?” she gasped, pouting her lips and twitching her hips slightly, feeling her wetness and knowing that he would be able to see it.  
Nick paused, teasing her hole with his thumb, “I’m going to fuck you,” and without further ado he pulled her back and slid into her, groaning loudly as he felt the cheeks of her arse nestle against his firm stomach.

Ilsa gripped the pillow between her teeth and moaned wildly as Nick filled her and then stilled, not moving inside her and grabbing her hips firmly so that she couldn’t move either.  
“Would you like me to fuck you?” he asked.

Ilsa only managed a whimpering nod, but it stimulated Nick’s hips like a starting pistol and he fucked into her with long, languid thrusts, each one filling her completely and causing him to press his eyes shut tight.  
He was angling his cock against an exquisite place within Ilsa and she was rocking back against him, almost begging him not to stop.  
Both had forgotten their characters and were now merely lost in the pleasure they were giving and receiving the other.

Nick pulled Ilsa up, kneeling behind her and tugging down the neck of her gown, flicking her now ridiculously sensitive nipples between his talented fingers and they continued to build a wonderfully erotic rhythm together.  
When he slid his hand around and circled against her soft mound Ilsa couldn’t contain her delight and it was his name that she cried as she saw stars….and it was her name and no other that he gasped a few seconds later as he pumped his release inside her.

As they came back down from their mutual highs Nick slumped to one side of her on the bed and glanced down, realising that he was still pretty much fully clothed.  
Ilsa rolled languidly over and smiled blissfully at her husband.

“That….Nick Herbert, was not the kind of behaviour I expect from a qualified physician!” but she sniggered delightedly and nuzzled against the soft fabric of his shirt.  
“And may I come back at you with that, madam, was NOT the kind of behaviour expected of a highly qualified member of the law society!”  
Both grinned inanely at each other.

“Can I take these off now?” Nick indicated his boots and breeches and received a reluctant, but accepting affirmative from Ilsa.  
With a groan he sat up and wrestled off the tall, stiff boots, before unfastening the buttons at the knee of his breeches and sliding them off his slender, but definitely aching thighs.  
He dragged the shirt over his head, but flopped back onto the head still wearing the cotton braies, having tucked his ‘resting’ cock back inside.

“We can keep this outfit and get it out again can’t we?” Ilsa wheedled, walking her fingers across the relatively smooth, lean chest of her husband.  
Nick smiled appreciatively, “Oh definitely…..and the braies are a definite yes….I kind of like how loose and easy going everything is down there,” and he wriggled his hips and nose impishly.

“So…..Cornish?” Ilsa ventured, arching her eyebrow at him mischievously.  
“Yeah…..well…..it was just a fantasy….although I have always loved how your accent gets stronger when you go back home…..and sexy French chambermaid….come on?! It’s kind of hard wired into us guys….although you do know that I was definitely saving all my very best moves for you, my darling wife?!”

Ilsa smiled back as he pressed tender kisses into her nose and forehead.  
“I know…..it was fun. However, I am now a bit cold….and definitely done for the evening!” she grinned and wrestled herself under the covers and back onto ‘her side’ of the bed before removing her glasses and nestling back into the warm arms of Nick.

“Goodnight Mr Bingley,” she quipped, biting his forearm playfully.  
“Goodnight Katy, and Monique….and Ilsa.”

_____

Ilsa slept through her alarm, but knew she wasn’t actually needed in work until about 11am, and it was one of Nick’s later shifts. His side of the bed was empty but she could hear him in the kitchen below.  
She threw on her fluffy, towelling robe after locating it on the other side of the room and padded down to find Nick, sporting the cotton braies from his regency costume, making tea and toast.

“Oh! I was bringing you breakfast in bed,” he smiled.  
“Wearing those?” she grinned.  
“I told you….I like the freedom, plus…..they’re sexxxxai!” and he flashed his best Jim Carey from The Mask at her across the island.

“Hmmmm, well, how about letting me have my fun……I’ll pop back upstairs and you can be the stable lad and I’ll be Mistress Ilsa….and that toast had better be crispy!” she flashed him a seductive grin and noticed his eyes dilate as she sauntered up the stairs, trailing her fingers against the kitchen surfaces.

He cleared his throat and arranged the plates and mugs on a tray, grinning like the cat that got the cream before he heard her call.  
“You rang m’lady?” he growled as he clasped the tray and ventured upstairs to satisfy his wife.


End file.
